


A Sun Salutation and Other Enticements

by Antiquity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiquity/pseuds/Antiquity
Summary: He’d laughed when Tooru said his coach had told him to start yoga to help his flexibility, but when Utsui-san had hummed thoughtfully at the idea, when he’d seen how months of balance and breathing and poise had turned Tooru’s already elegant body into something even more dangerously streamlined, he could only be grateful to the cantankerous old Spaniard.Plus, Tooru can get both ankles over Hajime’s shoulders again for the first time since they were twenty.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 14
Kudos: 152





	A Sun Salutation and Other Enticements

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently isolation-yoga over instagram makes me want to write IwaOi, who knew? 
> 
> (I did. I knew. Everything makes me think of IwaOi/Haikyuu, and Ladyriver is an enabler.)
> 
> I know very little about yoga, though, so forgive any unlikely pose combinations! I hope you're all doing well, staying safe and sane, and that this brings you a little bit of joy xxx
> 
> (This was written before ch 402 but damn, headcanon going strong!)

The other side of the bed is cool to the touch when Hajime wakes, sheets empty under his arm. But the alarm hasn’t gone off yet, and when he glances over at the bedside Hajime remembers with slow-cresting delight it’s Saturday, he didn’t set an alarm, and they have nowhere to be all weekend. The mid-morning sun is shining warm and golden through half-opened curtains, spilling like syrup into the room; the succulent on windowsill is vibrant with its new season flowers; and the breeze curling through the window brings with it the mouth-watering aroma of fresh bread from the bakery down the street.

The scene is only lacking his partner to make it complete, but Hajime knows where Tooru is and takes advantage of the space to stretch luxuriously, arms out, back arching, toes flexing. He debates dozing for another few minutes, or maybe picking up the novel sitting dog-eared and dusty on his bedside, but the chime of the coffeemaker in the kitchen is ultimately too tempting.

Kicking aside the sheet, Hajime yawns and rolls to his feet, scratching his elbow as he checks his phone. Nothing interesting, nothing pressing, no training for either of them and space in Tooru's calorie spreadsheet for a treat. He ambles into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and then at the doorway to the living room he pauses to admire the sight.

Tooru folds forward gracefully, flowing into downward dog with the balls of his feet braced firmly on the mat, palms flat. God, he is magnificent, Hajime thinks, watching his rhythmic breaths and the way the light from the living room window sweeps over him, turning the rumpled nest of his hair into spun caramel and the slope of his neck into something delectable. Sea blue leggings, an old grey tank top that Hajime is fairly sure was once his, and rippling muscles: Hajime smiles to himself and steps forward, trailing a hand up the back of Tooru’s thigh to his lower back.

“Breathe into it,” he murmurs, before running his hand up along Tooru’s spine until he can’t touch without crouching. Unperturbed, he waits till Tooru brings first his right foot, then his left, neatly up between his hands at the head of the mat and unfurls upwards, then steps close enough to kiss Tooru good morning.

“Coffee should be done,” Tooru says, kissing him again before raising his hands above his head to point fingertips at the ceiling.

“I heard,” Hajime says, ambling onward toward the kitchen. “Brunch later?”

“Divine,” Tooru sighs, folding forwards again, earbuds linked to his phone on the counter where the yoga podcast streams.

Hajime pours himself some coffee, grabs an apple, and settles at the kitchen counter with one eye on the iPad’s news and the other on the sleek lines of Tooru’s body as he pulls up into cobra pose, shoulders and biceps bunching in stark relief. They’ve been together long enough that Tooru doesn’t immediately try to show off under Hajime’s gaze unless he wants to prove a point. Today, he just winks when he sees Hajime watching and shifts up into downward dog before bringing a leg forward into one of the warrior poses, Hajime can never remember which. On the other hand, the chances of Tooru finishing his yoga routine without Hajime throwing him over his shoulder and marching to the bedroom, or the couch, or the nearest wall, are still only around sixty percent.

“Hrrrrnnnnfuck,” Tooru mutters, twisting and exhaling as he reaches a hand for the ceiling.

“Alright?” Hajime asks, looking up from a report on some politician’s most recent scandal.

“Just balance,” Tooru puffs, tottering slightly. “Haven’t done this one – shit – in a while.”

Hajime hums and returns to his newspaper, sipping at his coffee while Tooru switches legs. He gets halfway through a review on the latest action movie before Tooru swears under his breath.

“Hajime,” he starts, but Hajime is already moving.

“One of your moon ones?” he asks, standing to Tooru’s right.

“I’ll make a guru of you yet,” Tooru says, a little breathless, beautifully pink-cheeked and bright-eyed. Hajime kisses him because he can, because Tooru’s the love of his life and they’re here, together, Argentinian sun warming the bright knitted blankets tossed over the couch and coaxing flowers out of verdant plants they both thought they’d kill off in a month, and rests his hands on Tooru’s waist.

“Ready when you are,” he murmurs, nudging his nose into the sweat-damp curls behind Tooru’s ear.

Tooru’s body expands and contracts under his hands, breath hushing out of him, and then the muscles ripple as Tooru moves from warrior into one of the moon poses on his right leg. Hajime gets a hand under his left thigh and takes some of his weight, bracing the other hand on Tooru’s deliciously chiselled abdomen as Tooru reaches forward, weak knee quaking slightly as he extends a hand and leans.

He’d laughed when Tooru said his coach had told him to start yoga to help his flexibility, but when Utsui-san had hummed thoughtfully at the idea, when he’d seen how months of balance and breathing and poise had turned Tooru’s already elegant body into something even more dangerously streamlined, he could only be grateful to the cantankerous old Spaniard. Plus, Tooru can get both ankles over Hajime’s shoulders again for the first time since they were twenty.

“Easy,” he murmurs, taking more of Tooru’s weight as he wobbles. “Bend your knee a fraction if you need, but come back up if it feels unsteady.”

Tooru grunts acknowledgment, shifting back upright.

“How’d it feel?”

“Not bad,” Tooru says, shaking out his leg and pursing his lips as he considers his knee. “I’m just noticing the lack of last week’s practice. I should be able to balance better on it.”

“Well, to be fair, you got in a lot of cardio the weekend before that,” Hajime offers, sweeping a hand up Tooru’s thigh and gripping just so at his hip, digging a thumb over the crest of bone. They had, too; he’d wrung a third round out of a sobbing, shaking Tooru sometime around noon after starting roundabout nine that morning, and then collapsed face-down on the messy bed determined not to move till dinner.

Tooru’s eyes darken. “Don’t tempt me,” he growls, betraying his own words by tracing a fingertip around the low waistband of Hajime’s boxers. “Carla's already trying to flatten me into pigeon pose; I don’t need a hard-on as well.”

“If you insist,” Hajime sighs, withdrawing his hand and returning to his coffee. “I’m in the mood for Rebecca’s empanadas, we probably shouldn’t start something or she’ll run out before we get there.”

“Don’t suddenly be sensible,” Tooru scolds, and though his voice is stern his mouth is trying to give him away, curving at the corners. “You were supposed to revert to your Neanderthal state, toss me over your shoulder, and have your wicked way with me.”

“I am but a simple man,” Hajime retorts, crossing one knee over the other and leaning his elbows back on the counter in a way that he knows makes his pecs look amazing. “I have few wants in life: doctors who don't have shit handwriting, a good spike, and beef empanadas straight out of the oven.”

“Well, you can sleep on the couch with that attitude,” Tooru sniffs, turning away and dropping into another flawless downward dog. “Ranking below an empanada, when did my life get so hard.”

Hajime adjusts his legs, gaze riveted to the long lines of sculpted muscle in Tooru’s thighs. “All right,” he sighs, like he’s making a huge concession. He reaches for his coffee cup but misses the first time, unwilling to look away, and the smug gleam in upside-down eyes tells him Tooru caught that. “My few wants in life: doctors with legible handwriting, a good spike, beef empanadas straight out of the oven, and Oikawa Tooru’s thighs wrapped around my head. There, happy?”

Tooru rolls forward sinfully slowly, back arching and muscles bunching as he moves from downward dog into plank into cobra and then up to a half-lunge – Hajime tenses in case his knee starts wobbling but it seems stable – and finally back up to mountain, standing at the head of the mat with hand on hip, hip cocked, and chin tilted as he peers slyly at Hajime over his shoulder.

“Ecstatic,” he purrs, and pulls out the earbuds before strolling away down the corridor, slipping his shirt off. The cascade of muscle all the way up his back is utterly unnecessary and extremely appreciated; Hajime shoves cup and iPad back onto the counter and stalks after him.

Tooru was definitely expecting it, but he still shrieks when Hajime spins him around, gets a shoulder under his middle, and _lifts_. He might not be as flexible as Tooru, but at twenty-nine his physique, working as he does with athletes at the peak of their physical fitness, is all about packing on strength. Tooru agrees, if the way his hands gravitate immediately to Hajime’s ass is any indication.

“I suppose a late lunch could be arranged,” Hajime grunts, tossing Tooru carefully onto their bed. Tooru laughs at him, splayed on their sheets in the sunlight like a GymShark ambassador modelling for a Renaissance-style photoshoot, and Hajime can’t fight his smile as he prowls forward across the mattress. “God, the compromises I have to make.”

Tooru winds his arms around his neck. “Truly a saint,” he agrees, grinding upwards.

“Damn right I am,” Hajime growls, pressing every inch of warm skin together that he can. “Alright, a quick fuck, a shower, and then lunch. Maybe we’ll try Fabio’s place.”

Tooru surfaces from the kiss trying to scowl. “Honestly, at least try to be romantic, you brute! But yes, I agree, Fabio’s sounds good.”

Hajime’s too busy trying to get Tooru out of his skin-tight leggings to really pay much attention to the nonsense coming out of his mouth. “Sure, baby, whatever you say.”

“Mmm, life is good,” Tooru says dreamily, lifting his hips so Hajime can start inching down the leggings.

“Namaste,” Hajime retorts, and has to wait for Tooru to stop laughing to kiss him properly.


End file.
